


Spindle's Thread

by firearms57



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, M/M, NSFW, Nervous Cassian, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Rhys is only kinda gay, Smut, Smutty, are you proud of me now mom?, omg how long has it been since i actually finished a fic, shut your eyes kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-04-30 13:06:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14497611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firearms57/pseuds/firearms57
Summary: Cassian has been lusting after his High Lady for centuries. Of course, he hasn't told anybody (else he would've had some awkward conversations over the years), yet his desire lingers.What Feyre suspects to be attraction is soon confirmed when Rhysand invites Cassian to their bed.





	1. The Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> i havent written smut in months and its about time to get back into the groove. *yeah! my parents are proud!*

A long time ago, Feyre found the general doing something of nature, and yet his reaction to her was anything but.

She'd caught him with his cock in one hand, spotted coverlet fisted in the other. Now a normal person, upon finding their best friend's stupefied gaze glued to their fingers and the rather obstructive organ they were curled around, might blush or yelp in surprise. When he noticed her, his length should've fallen limp at the sudden interruption. That would have been the proper reaction; that would have been the kind of thing she could laugh off in the morning, put it off as a new story to tease him about. That's how it should've been. 

Instead, she walked in to find him gasping, and when the door creaked open and his honey eyes shot to hers, he'd only groaned louder, until sticky cum fell onto his belly and his chest convulsed with the effort of keeping calm. She'd been too surprised to do anything other than stare, and yet again she found none of the expected horror — shame, perhaps — but no outright opposition to her presence. At this, she'd done the exact opposite of what a kind person would do upon finding a close friend in a compromising situation. She very quietly turned, shut the door, and walked away. 

Upon returning to bed, she'd been too troubled to wake her sleeping mate, and in the morning, too, she fended off his mother-henning with excuses feeble enough to render him helpless.  
That breakfast was tense, though four of the six did not know why. Cassian was quiet and unsmiling and Feyre was fidgety. A few times, Mor asked if she and he had fought, and what could she do to help, but Feyre politely declined further conversation.

As the days passed, the tension slowly eased, through the urging of her companions, and that of her own mind (to forget).

But Archerons are a stubborn breed, and a decade later, she still had not quite managed to forget that instance, and a decade later is when Feyre finally disclosed to her mate the story.

At first, Rhys had laughed.

That's what's been bothering you for the past ten years? 

But when Feyre had further described the scene, paying careful attention to the part where Cassian had not shown aversion to her presence in the least, Rhys' smile gave way to an unsettled frown. It sent a pang of disquiet that his brother might've been harboring a secret interest in his mate, yet it made sense, since Nesta and her sister shared much in common by way of appearance. Still, Cassian might have told him sooner and avoided this whole mess...

Another thought came to mind, though, and suddenly his uneasiness shifted back to amusement. 

When Feyre noticed his change in demeanor, she asked, rather huffily, "What?" 

Rhys caught her around the waist. "I was just thinking. If it's impossible for me to resist you, why not Cassian?"

She snorted. "Yes, you, with all your masterful self-control." 

He smirked, flicked her on the nose. "I'm about to bring up two nights ago, but that'll just make you more mad, am I right?" 

Feyre scowled. "Well you're wrong anyway, about Cassian and his damned control, since Azriel hasn't eyed me up in all the centuries I've known him." 

"That's 'cause Azriel's already taken."

"For two years. What about all the time before Mor?" 

Rhys shrugged. "Close enough." 

Feyre gaped at him, then shoved him back hard enough to disentangle his arms from around her. "You are so bad at helping." 

Rhys sobered, sliding his hands into his pockets, though his eyes still twinkled merrily. "Darling, let me put it this way. We've had Helion, Lucien, Tarquin, Cresseida, Varian — that's the whole Summer Court, isn't it? — and then that other one, and we're still here, aren't we?" He shrugged. "What's one more?"

Feyre frowned. "He's not 'just one more,' Rhysand. He's our friend. One you've had for centuries longer than I, I might add."

"Good thing, that. Else it would have been a lot more complicated getting him to come to our rooms tonight." 

Feyre stared at him for a full minute before the words sank in. When they did, she hissed, "Rhys! You can't just invite someone —"

"I just did."

"But you — How did you even —"

"Daemati, darling." He chuckled. "Funny how that always slips your mind."

"It didn't! But you can't just —"

"I did."

"You're supposed to ask —"

"I am."

"But I can't answer when you keep interrup —"

He kissed her.


	2. Communication is Key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys and Cassian have a talk.

When Cassian had felt Rhysand's touch in his mind, he had assumed it would be a follow-up about the trade agreements they had been making with the Winter Court. He let the pen fall from his grasp, ignoring the splatter of ink it sent across the very _important_  document — _screw you, Beron_  — and leaned back in his chair, working a kink out of his hand while easing the walls and barriers from around his mind.

_Cassian_. Rhysand's voice was a midnight caress. 

_I finished the contract with Winter, Rhys, but Kallias is still suspicious and he wants more to bind you by than a signature. Then there's this business with Beron. He keeps asking about Mor —_

_Cassian._

Rhys' tone was chiding, amused, but there was something else there, sharp and cunning, that reminded him just how powerful the male was. 

Cassian paused. _...Yes?_  

_Do you remember the summer after you met Mor?_

Cassian froze. 

He did remember, of course. How could you forget something like _that?_  They'd been young and full of testosterone, and with Az tailing Mor like a lovesick puppy, they'd been tamped with extra energy at the loss of their sparring partner. Rhys and he had flown to the Steppes, landed deep in the wilderness, further than they'd ever gone during the Blood Rite. They spent the day there, fishing, playing, and reveling in youth, and then lay, the thrumming energy of the morning quietened at least for now, beneath the stars.

Perhaps it was because the sky was undiluted and pure, or perhaps it was because Cass had never been able to sit still for more than a minute and the silence was getting to him, but he hadn't thought twice about rolling over atop his friend, pinning him to the ground. This was new territory for both of them; Illyrians only ever showed this sort of bravado in the presence of a female — to do any more or any less was just asking for ridicule. But Cassian didn't let himself hesitate at the surprised look in Rhysand's eye before he leaned down to kiss him. And after that, things went hazy.   
It was something they had never brought up, at the time because they got enough trouble as it was just for being alive, and in later years because it was simply habit and neither one of them wanted to deal with the unnecessary awkwardness that was sure to follow _that_  conversation.

Cassian wiped his suddenly sweaty palms against his pants. _I remember_.

 Rhys purred, and Cassian hadn't thought he'd ever get to hear that sultry note in his voice ever again. _Come to bed, Cassian._

_...What about Feyre?_

_I want you._ We _want you._

He hesitated. Yes, he _wanted_ , but as an Illyrian, as a male, he'd learned to think past _want_. He didn't know what this would mean for their future or how they would act after this moment of indulgence. Cassian was contemplating the hell he'd give himself that night, alone in bed with naught for company but the cold sheets, if he were to decline.

Rhys felt his reluctance, and whispered again, _We'll talk when you get here._ _Come, Cass. Please._

His misgivings vanished at the "please," for who was he to deny his High Lord? 

Cassian stood.

*

Cass walked the wide hallway to the High Lady's rooms.

Oddly, it was the smell that made him tense. Normally, no one person's scent could be distinguished in a public place, not even in a private home. The amount of people that passed through was a number too vast, and eventually all the many smells got tangled up in an intricate web that distinguished that one place from every other.

Not this hallway.

No one would dare walk the hallway to the High Lady's personal chambers, not in a million years. Yet here he was, tainting the heady scent of them, a Mated pair, with his own musk. It didn't seem right. 

The hallway ended before a massive mahogany archway and the door set within it. It was looming, ominous, and not at all helping the ball of nerves in his belly. 

Rhysand opened the door before he could knock, leaving it open just long enough for him to catch a scent of Feyre and the lingering scent of their mixed arousal. Likely, that scent hadn't left since their first night together, and it never would, even if you set to the floors with steel sponge. 

He turned to find Rhys watching him, a knowing gleam in his eye. 

Cassian swallowed and shifted his weight. "I'm here," he offered weakly.

Rhys smirked and slid his hands into his pockets. "Why didn't you tell me?" His tone was amenable enough, but the accusatory nature of his words less so.

"Tell you what?" Cassian asked, though of course he knew. 

Rhysand's smile was a little too sharp. "Don't play stupid. She told me all about your little episode."

All the muscles in his body went taut, and all the stiffness he'd worked from his back only minutes ago came rushing back as icy fingers clenched tight around his heart. His harsh breaths were loud in the stillness of the hallway, a reminder that he was in fact alone with the most dangerous male in Prythian. Who was at this moment only slightly less terrifying than the beast in the library. 

_Relax_ , Rhys whispered in his mind, and against his will, Cassian felt himself doing just that.

_Damned Daemati_. Cassian was sure to project that thought _extra_  loud.

The ensuing chuckle crawled up his spine like a whisper of silk. 

"Relax," Rhys repeated, out loud. "And stop stalling." A fiendish smile curved his lips, but again it didn't look right. Too much teeth made him look wolfish. 

A tremor broke Cassian's laugh in two, and he ran a hand through his hair, a nervous tic. "I'm having a really hard time figuring out if you're flirting with me or if you want to tear my heart out and eat it." He chuckled again, apprehensive. "It's kind of making me want to piss myself." 

"A habit from the Court of Nightmares."

Cassian took a breath. He was still standing here, alive, so Rhysand couldn't be _that_  mad, right?

"Not mad, exactly," Rhys admitted, voice suddenly serious. "Only curious. And disappointed that you didn't trust me enough to tell me yourself."

Cassian let out a laugh then, incredulous and full of nerves. "You know how scary you are when you're protecting her?"

"The truth, Cassian."

He loosed a breath. "Look. It's not exactly easy to fancy your best friend's wife, let alone their Mate. And when it's you two... Cauldron, you've been through so much shit, and somehow you found a way to get through it, and the way you love each other is so obvious, so fairy tale, it doesn't seem real. And I'd just — Well, fuck, I would never get between that." 

Rhysand was silent for so long that Cassian wasn't sure if he was supposed to leave or not. 

Finally, he said, "I'm still not okay with it, I think, even if it's not your fault how you feel."

Cassian sagged against the wall. "Then why did you call me —"

"I called you because of her," he said. "She's curious about you. No matter what she says out loud, I can read her intentions better than my own. I didn't tell her that I was upset about you, because she was already uncomfortable and she didn't need any more of that from me. The same way you will not stand between us, I will not stand between you." 

Cassian blinked in surprise. 

A wicked smirk cut across Rhys' features, genuine this time, and it set his violet eyes alight with lust. "Besides," he said, voice lower now, rougher, "she's never had two Illyrians at once." The look he threw Cassian had the general clearing his throat and shifting his weight against the sudden pressure in his pants. "The sounds she'll make will have you cum in minutes."

Rhys spun around with characteristic flair, drew open the door and motioned over his shoulder for Cassian to follow. 

Cassian couldn't get in fast enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smut next chapter


	3. What Will You Have of Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3000 words of unedited smut. i do not blame you if you ex out your window after the first sentence

When Cassian entered the room, he was already nervous by the sheer size of everything, the sleek walls, the inky black sheets that perfectly matched the parted drapes, and all other hints of Rhysand among the clutter of Feyre's paints and upholstered furniture. The room was set up so that the eye was drawn to the the far left corner, where a large four-poster spread across the expanse of the carpeted floor.

Cassian's mouth went dry at the sight of her.

Sprawled across the bed, looking positively sinful in her nakedness, Feyre lay in the light of an uncovered window, unabashed by his scrutiny. In fact, judging by the way she stretched and flexed just a little bit more, the faint curling at the edges of her lips, she was relishing the attention.

"Enjoy your talk?" she drawled, sounding bored.

Rhys moved towards the bed, fingers already set to the silver fastenings holding his tunic in place. "Massively." He let the fabric fall from his shoulders, his voice a rusty purr just before the mattress dipped beneath his weight and he bent to kiss her.

Cassian watched them and felt all the desire of ten years' suppression wash over him in a sudden flood of want.

 _This is really happening._  He felt dizzy. It should have been impossible. He wanted something he could never have, and there she was. This really was the Court of Dreams.

He barely had time to process the thought before Feyre was pushing, more like shoving, Rhys off of her.

Rhys let out a sound of protest, but Feyre was having none of it.

"Not yet, you prick," she hissed. "We haven't spoken for more than three seconds and you're already horny as an adolescent."

She sat up on the bed, leaning on her elbow, and looked at Cassian. Cassian balked, because hot damn, looking at her bare torso did things to him, and there she was sizing him up like a lamb before the slaughter.

"Do you want me, Cass?" she asked baldly.

Rhys snickered, and Cassian blushed. Cauldron. He hadn't been this nervous since his first year at the war camps. "I —"

She gave him a frank look that made him choke in his effort to keep in whatever crap had been about to come out of his mouth. He swallowed his pride and replied, just as plainly, "Yeah, Feyre, I really do."

Rhys shifted on the bed behind Feyre, and Cassian spared him a worried glance, wondering at the rules when it came to dealing with a Mated pair.

And then his focus was all on Feyre, because she had stood and was walking towards him in all her naked glory. She stopped only when she reached a point Cassian considered reserved for intimacy and then an inch besides, and her breath was hot against his ear when she spoke.

"I want you, Cassian, and you want me more than that, but this involves more than just us." She pulled back to raise an eyebrow and flicked her gaze to the bed, where Rhysand, still shirtless, had propped himself on an elbow to watch them. "He tried to hide how uncomfortable he was when I told him about you, but I know him better than myself."

Cassian tried not to notice how similar their words were.

"If you want to come out of this unchanged," her voice was at his ear again, "you will not antagonize him. You will not push your luck." She looked at him now. "Keep an eye on him, focus on his cues, that's all I ask." A devilish grin formed on her face, far too similar to Rhysand's own to be coincidental. "As much as you'll be able to focus anyway."

"Sound advice, darling," Rhys said, and Cassian was sure it was just to make it clear that he'd been listening and could hear every word between them.

Feyre shot him a glare, but only for a second before returning to Cassian. Her eyes were blue sparks of mischief as she, very purposefully, stood on her toes and pulled her arms over her head in a full body stretch. Cassian followed the arch of her back and the curve of her waist. He tasted iron when he bit his tongue hard enough to bleed.

"So how do you want me?" Feyre asked in a voice that had his cock, already half-hard, standing fully erect.

He let out a sharp breath when the fabric of his trousers bunched uncomfortably against the strain.

She noticed, because of course she did, and let out a throaty laugh. "You first, then. Get over here, Rhysand."

The sheets rustled, and soft footsteps sounded on the floor.

Cassian started when Rhys brushed up behind him, brazen. Strong arms wrapped around his torso, and he grunted when they squeezed just a bit too tight. It was a playful jostle, Cassian realized, meant to get him out of his own head.

"Move over, you oaf," Feyre muttered to Rhys and squeezed in between them.

Pressed so close to her, Cassian was painfully aware of his arousal, even as Rhys resumed the kiss from before. Feyre didn't fight him this time, and Cassian could feel her body become loose and pliant as the barest echo of a moan pulled from her throat.

While they kissed, Cassian disentangled from Rhysand's arms and set about shedding his own clothes. Rhys had chosen to call him in while he was busy — typical — but the work was nothing of a martial nature and Cassian had foregone his usual fighting leathers for a more comfortable shirt and trousers. Thank the Cauldron, for they peeled from his body with no protest, and he didn't know what he would have done had he required the ten minutes necessary to remove each and every intricacy of his armor. (The wings made it double as hard for him as for a non-Illyrian.)

When he was through, Cassian glanced up and froze. They were watching him, his High Lady and her High Lord. Feyre, from the clutches of Rhysand's embrace, and Rhys, from where her head was tucked beneath his jaw and his arms coiled around her torso (dangerously close to other parts).

It was odd to stand bare in front of them for no purpose but his own pleasure. There was no war, no matters of grave importance to attend to. This was all for _him_. 

The thought made him a little teary. Not that he'd ever admit it.

Feyre noticed anyway, damn her.

She stepped from Rhysand's grasp, wormed her way into his space and pressed herself against his chest. He caught his breath and tried to hide the want that ripped through him at the feel of her body against him, free of sordid dress or fighting leathers.

"Please don't get all weepy on us, Cass," she said, just the barest bit dry.

"Yes, please don't," Rhysand piped up. "Wouldn't want me fly you, screaming, out of a tower a _second_  time, would you?"

"I would never scream," Cassian retorted.

Feyre pressed her lips to his neck, setting his skin warm and humming with energy. "That remains to be seen."

Then she was kissing him, truly this time, and Rhyand was suddenly behind him, not making any effort at all to hide the way his cock prodded Cassian's ass. Cassian refrained from snapping at him, because of course the bastard knew that he was pinning in Cassian's wings with this position. He could have sworn Rhys was smirking, smug, but then Feyre hummed and drew his attention back to her.

Cassian kissed her, soft, holding in his want for fear of being too much. One of his hands had made its way to her waist, and his fingers itched to feel the lines of muscle at her stomach, feel the weight of her breasts, ( _curl around her throat_ ). But he was wont to do something she did not like, and so he held his body rigid, save the soft movement of his lips against hers.

Feyre didn't share his reservations, apparently, because he heard her laughter in his mind just seconds before her fingers were wrapping around his wrist and guiding his hand up to support the heavy flesh of her breast. Cassian moaned and pressed closer to her, kiss roughening despite all his uncertainty. Feyre took what he gave and threw it back twice as hard, teeth nipping and catching against his lip.

Behind him, Rhysand ran his hands down the length of Cassian's back, leaned forward to nuzzle against his shoulder. Cassian tensed when Rhys licked a line over the thick muscle there, dangerously close to where regular flesh shifted to the keen tissue of his wings.

Determined to ignore him, Cassian shifted his entire focus to Feyre, and the way her fingers danced along his thighs. She was still kissing him, slower now, sensual. He squeezed her breast, then let his knuckles drag across the peak of her nipple. His other hand, he lifted, hesitant, to curl through the hair at the nape of her neck. He tugged gently. She gave no indication that she'd noticed, but she curled her body around his and bit his lip a little rougher. Cassian knew a challenge when saw one, and the male part of him that had wanted to snap and preen under her attention from the beginning had him snarling and yanking her hair, hard.

Feyre broke the kiss immediately. She cried out, different from the quiet sighs and hums she'd breathed into their kiss, desperate and wild where the others had been a serene recounting of her pleasure. Cassian jerked away from her, fear spiking, and jostled Rhys behind him.

"Shit, I didn't mean —" Cassian began, but he wasn't sure how to apologize. They'd invited him to their bed, despite the fact that it made them more than a little uncomfortable, and then he'd went and made an ass of himself.

Rhysand stepped up behind his mate and wrapped his arms around her. At first, Cassian assumed it was to comfort, but then Feyre opened her eyes. Her pupils were blown wide, dark and deep as the night, and her face was flushed not from pain but pleasure.

Rhys kissed her shoulder, and his hand slid down to the apex of her thighs. "It seems you've found her weakness," he said, voice rife with tension. Cassian didn't think Rhys was aware of how thick he was laying it on, the brazen display of possession. His fingers worked quickly, set her shuddering in his arms, and he growled hard into her skin. He was looking at Cassian when he bit her neck, eyes blazing with the reminder that she was  _his_  mate, _his_. Then Rhys, being Rhys, slid his own fingers through her hair and jerked her back against him with the twice the force Cassian had used. And she let him, scrabbling at his shoulders and mewling like a kitten, body shuddering hard enough she couldn't be doing anything but coming.

Rhys drew his tongue across his teeth, muscles drawn taut with desire but he'd lost that feral edge that set Cassian's hackles lifting at competition.

When she was through, a lazy smile played at the corners of her mouth, and the look she gave Cassian made him want to piss himself.

She walked — sauntered? swayed? — towards him, took Rhysand's hand and tugged him after her.

She stopped in front of him and ran a hand over his chest. "What do you want, Cass?" She looked at him when she said the words, voice soft but her gaze was intense, full of want.

He never would have guessed that she could look at him like that. When she'd left Tamlin, she'd been small, childlike. But she'd grown quicker than anyone he'd seen when she was with Rhys, blossoming into herself like a flower finally let into the sun. Her ferocity, her surety, it all made clear that the person she'd been in Spring was a parody of her true self. And Rhys — he was the one to show her that. Compared to him, Cassian was... Well, certainly less.

Feyre leaned forward and fed him the whisper of a kiss. "Whatever self-pitying bull crap you've just told yourself, forget it," she murmured onto his lips. "No one but you believes it anyway."

Cassian swallowed, for reasons aside his obvious arousal. "You don't even know what I'm thinking to pity myself. Maybe I said 'If I'm here, I'm going to have to see Rhysand's stiff prick eventually'." It was a pale comparison to his normal quips, voice hoarse and just a little watery.

Feyre's lips quirked. "A thought to bring the Court of Nightmares to its knees."

"Don't make me remind you, darling," Rhysand griped as he stepped close again, "that you'd be the first in line."

The way he pressed himself against Feyre's back, pointed, insistent, made it clear what he was implying. _Get on with it_.

She ignored Rhys, which seemed to infuriate him to no end, and looked up at Cassian. It seemed like she was going to kiss him, but then her lips twisted on a moan and she stumbled into his chest instead. Rhys' clever hand had slipped between her legs again, and over Feyre's shoulder, the High Lord shot Cassian a look that reeked of male competition.

 _Read his cues_ , Feyre had said, so Cassian licked his lips and took a step back.

No sooner had he moved back that Feyre's eyes snapped open, arm shooting out to grab him. She shot a glare at Rhys, even while he continued to toy with her, and said somewhat breathlessly, "You know, for someone who's always crowing about being my equal, you forget that applies to our magic as well way too fucking much. _Daemati, darling_."

Those last words had the sound of mockery, and apparently Rhys picked it up as well because he twisted his fingers and made her gasp. With the hand not digging crescents into Cassian's arm, Feyre plucked Rhysand's own away from her.

"Don't be such a bastard," she said primly. "I already love you. There's nothing to prove."

The words smarted somewhere inside Cassian, but then Feyre was dropping to her knees in front of him, and he had to stifle a groan at the sight of her. It turned him on far more than it should have, considering how _wrong_  it was. The most powerful female in Prythian kneeling for him. He, a bastard-born Illyrian, and she the High Lady —

"My gods." Feyre looked up at Rhys with a scowl. "He's worse than Azriel, isn't he?"

Rhys' laughter was silken. "Only during sex."

Then her mouth was on him, warm and wet, and he could have come right there. When she pressed her tongue under his head and reached for his wings, he nearly did.  
He swore and tried to keep his hips from shooting forward to meet her. Her fingers danced along the sensitive edge of his wing, and he bowed forward to give her easier access. She must have done this a _lot_ with Rhysand because she knew exactly where to touch him to get his cock pulsing.

Without thinking, his hand threaded through her hair, and he nearly screamed in frustration because she was jerking back away from him with a choked breath.

" _Shit_ ," she croaked and scrubbed a hand over her face. "Don't do that when your cock's down my throat."

Cassian winced. "Sorry, I —"

She squeezed his shaft, turning his words to gasping breaths. She let him go with a wry smile. "Because I can't focus, prick. Not because I don't like it."

Despite her scolding earlier, Rhys' nostrils flared at her words and that same feral gleam returned to his eye. Cassian was expecting it when Rhys dropped to the floor behind Feyre and pulled her into his lap. She let go of Cassian with a squeak, then craned her neck around to look at her mate.

"What are you —"

But Rhysand didn't seem inclined to speak, cutting her off with a bruising kiss. He drew her tongue into his mouth and his growl was loud enough that Cassian could feel it in the soles of his feet. When Rhys pulled back, Feyre's eyes were cloudy, and she seemed in a daze. In a single motion, Rhys hoisted her up by the ass and pushed himself inside her. Feyre's head fell back against his shoulder, surprise aiding her pleasure, and a moan slipped out of her lips.

Rhys was not gentle. He set a brutal pace, wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her down to meet his cock with every thrust. Rhys licked a line up the column of her throat, but his eyes were on someone besides his mate. Cassian felt his envy spike, and Rhys grinned savagely.

Cassian assumed that he was responsible for his own pleasure now. He let his hand drop past his navel and set a pace far slower than the one used opposite him. (If he went that fast, he didn't think he'd last longer than a minute.)

After only a moment, Feyre opened her eyes to look at him. Her gaze immediately fell to his cock, and a furrow grew between her brows. "My hands are better," she said, and beckoned him come closer.

Cassian did, sparing a glance for Rhys, but he didn't seem to mind so long as his cock was rammed up Feyre's cunt.

At her first touch, he tensed visibly.

She took a moment to watch his face, her own lips parted in pleasure while Rhys rocked against her, to find what he liked. She drew patterns across his shaft and rolled his balls between her fingers. He shuddered when she drew her thumb across his tip. With a wicked smile, she repeated the motion, that feather-light touch sending a jolt of pleasure up his spine. Of their own accord, his wings unfolded from his back, curled over his shoulders in an unspoken question. Feyre reached for him again, nails scraping against the membrane.

He moaned at the same time she did, only hers was louder and it continued long after his had faded to nothing but panted breaths through his nose. Rhys had, impossibly, picked up his pace, muscles flexing with each roll of his hips, and his hand was at her clit again, fingers slipping quick and hard through her slick.

Tendrils of night slid between them, from Rhys or from Feyre, Cassian could not tell. He was more caught up in the way her skin was glowing like the sun itself, setting her eyes alight to liquid flame. Her release seemed to come out of nowhere, forcing her lips around a silent moan while Rhys pressed his mouth to her ear.

Her hand had not left his shaft, and she squeezed painfully hard as she came down from her high. He was close, so far gone that he would take whatever she gave him, even if her nails dug into the sensitive flesh of his cock and he had to bite his tongue to keep from jerking away. Rhysand was not faring much better, breaths short and sharp, and it was only a moment later that he was spilling his seed inside her, teeth finding her pulse-point as he did.

Feyre did not move from her place in Rhysand's lap when she looked at Cassian and set to stroking him again. She was clever and quick, and when her fingers twisted over his tip, he was gone. Release tore through him, fast, and hard enough to bring him to his knees. The pleasure made him forget his name, and Feyre's hand did not leave him until he found himself again.

When he was finished, he sat back on his haunches and did his best not to feel like a cornered rabbit beneath both of their gazes.

"What?" he tried to ask, but he had to clear his throat twice before the word was understandable.

Feyre was grinning. "Rhys came before you."

Unbidden, a memory struck him. A drunk Rhysand standing on a table in the middle of the banquet honoring the newly-forged alliance between Winter and Night, proclaiming that it didn't matter if Azriel had the biggest wingspan. It didn't matter if _Cassian_  had the biggest wingspan, because they would be asleep hours before he had even come once.

Cassian's grin came slower, but he was left feeling more like himself and less like a drooling halfwit when it did. "I guess I did."

"What are you talking about?" Rhys griped.

"Last solstice," Feyre prompted, then promptly went to prod him in the shoulder. 

He gave her a look.

"When Kallias and Vivienne came to celebrate the alliance?"

When he still showed no sign of recognition, a worried furrow set itself between her brows. "You really don't remember? How could you —"

Cassian's laughter was loud and sudden in the quiet of the room. "He was _wasted_ , Feyre! If you drank a bottle of wine, you wouldn't remember it if Tamlin dressed himself in armor and set off on a valiant quest to save fair Lucien from your sister, the dragon."

Feyre raised a brow. "Well, wine aside, that statement was oddly eloquent for someone who's just been thoroughly fucked."

Cassian gave her a shit-eating grin, thanking the Mother that he could be comfortable enough to do so after all this. "But I haven't been fucked yet."

Rhy snapped his teeth. "We'll just have to remedy that, now won't we?"


End file.
